It was now late afternoon, and the air was cool, fresh, and uninhabited by the smells of the crowded prison he was leaving behind. The gentle crunch of leaves and twigs beneath Er’Dans feet felt natural, felt correct. It had been an hour since he had left Heinrich’s prison, and the forests surrounding the prison were beginning to ease his mind back to its old self. As he walked, knapsack and longbow slung over his shoulder, he began to hum an old tune he vaguely remembered from his childhood. In the back of his mind he knew that Dalvin was the reason he was released from confinement, but he would take the evening for himself to rest and rejoin the outside world. Eventually, the forest began to break, but not completely, as Er’dan began to see the small huts and communities that make up the outskirts of the city. The folk that resided out here were typically too poor to move into the more convenient downtown districts, or either too criminal to be see in more affluent areas. He was very familiar with these areas from his youth, having spent many years thieving and stealing from the less fortunate to provide his own needs. He had found they were easier marks than the wealthier families closer to the towns center. It was out here in the outskirts that Er’Dan found an old pub he was familiar with from his youth. Jingling the pouch of coins in his hand graciously given to him in the knapsack, he decided he had earned himself just one drink for his year behind bars. The pub, named “The Last Stop,” was nestled near some residential homes and a few shops that would look run down and closed to an out of towner, but Er’Dan knew better. He pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, the brim hanging down low over his brow covering as much of his face as possible, and entered the swinging doors of the pub.
The light was low inside the tavern, and it was hard to make out any figures aside from their silhouette and size. Perfect, Er’Dan thought, getting recognized on his first night out of prison was not what he had in mind. No one seemed to take note as he entered, at this hour patrons were frequently coming and going, swapping tall tales and drowning the sorrows of a life filled with regret. Er’Dan approached and found a seat at the long bar that ran the length of the building opposite from where he had entered, ordering a beer of the bartenders choosing. Having never been much of a drinker, he did not understand why someone would voluntarily dull their senses or reactions, tonight he found pleasure in consuming something which was forbidden to him less than a day ago. He glanced along the bar next to him; to his left appeared an older Orc male, with an obvious young high Elf harlot. What was a high Elf doing down here in the slums? Er’Dan wondered but shook it off, wasn’t any of his business either way. He turned to his right, and saw what appeared to be three middle aged humans, huddled closely in conversation over the various drinks they had ordered. Continuing to quietly consume his beverage, he trains his ears the best he can to listen.
“Are you sure he set everything up? I don’t like taking risks and that’s exactly what this sounds like.”
“He is right Feidin, I have my own misgivings about this plan.”
“Do not worry, Voidwalken has yet to fail us. Let’s go, I need a smoke.”
The man seated in the center of the three, Feidin it seemed, finishes a long drink from his mug and wipes his face clean with the sleeve of his tunic before tossing a few silver coins onto the bartop. “Eh, bigger mess than usual today Garfield.” Feidin belches towards the bartender, standing up from his stool and motioning his companions to do the same. Each with their own variant of the drunken stumble, the three men eventually make it out the door and into the cool night air to enjoy their nicotine addiction, another disgusting act Er’Dan never understood.
Voidwalken? Within hours of his release from prison, Er’Dan already had a track to follow. Either Dalvin was hiring idiots to work for him, who openly spoke his name in the back alleys and dark corners of the city, or Dalvin's vengeance had risen to the level where he needed to outsource his dirty deeds. Though he had planned to use the night to relax and enjoy the world outside of his old four wall home, the pull of the hunt was far too strong. More than half of Er’Dan’s drink was still swirling in the large wooden mug he had been given, but he knew tonight was not the night to over indulge. Tossing a gold piece onto the bar, he regards the bartender cleaning up the mess left by the three humans.
“Garfield, was it?”
“Yes sir, did you need another drink?” Garfield continues to wipe down the bar where the men were seated.
“No no, in fact I am all done drinking for the evening. I was just wondering if any of the rooms you have upstairs are for short term rent.” Er’Dan nods towards the staircase in the corner of the room, which led to an indoor balcony where several closed doors were seen lining the walls
“I do have a room available, it is fifty silver a night, or five hundred silver to rent for the week.”
“Here is a gold piece,” Er’Dan places a second coin on the bartop, “Can you have one of your staff bring my belongings up? I have an errand to run.”
“Of course, anything for such a generous patron. I will put you in the last room, room seven. Bradford!” Garfield’s eyes light up at the two gold pieces he sees in front of the Elf at his bar.
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“Y-y-yes Mr. Garfield?” A young wiry framed halfling appears from nowhere and joins the two conversing.
“Bradford, please bring this gentleman's bag to his room, number seven.”
“Right away, of course sir.” The halfling accepts the knapsack from Er’Dan. Almost gratefully.
“Would you like me to store your weapons in your room as well sir?” The halfling looks up to meet Er’Dan’s eyes.
“I’ll be needing those, but thank you Bradford.” Er’Dan places fifty silver into the halflings hand before he scurries off towards room seven.
“I appreciate it Garfield, enjoy your evening.” Er’Dan stands and gives a final nod to the barkeep before adjusting the hood of his cloak to once again ensure he was concealed.
Before leaving through the swinging tavern doors, Er’Dan glances out the window, and notices the men he had seen at the bar throwing their cigarettes to the ground and beginning to stumble off. He slips out of the pub and into the streets of the desolate city. As he slinks from shadow to shadow trailing the men, Er’Dan is pleased the year behind bars haven’t seemed to affect his natural sleuth-like abilities. In reality, the men were not a worthy opponent for him to track or defeat, but he realized were a stepping stone to the real target. After a few short minutes, the men stopped briefly to speak before forking off to what Er’Dan assumed were their respective homes. Chuckling under his breathe, he chooses to follow Feidin taking a road veering off to the right, as he was the only one to make mention of Dalvin’s surname. After another few minutes of tracking his now lonely and stumbling prey, Feidin stops next to a large empty wine barrel in a back alley behind some shops, steadying himself before he undoes his belt. Damn, Er’Dan thinks to himself, he is making this too easy for me. He kneels and pulls a dagger from his boot, before he swiftly approaches Feidin.
Feidin’s reaction time was obviously dulled by the spirits he had consumed, only being able to grab onto and pull up his pants before Er’Dan had him restrained against the alley wall, dagger to his throat.
“Take my coin purse, I’m no one, just let me go home.” Feidin manages to sputter out against the brick wall.
Er’Dan raises his foot and brings it down, hard, on the back of Feidin’s left calf. A sickening crunch can be heard as bone pierces through Feidin’s pants.
“You do not speak unless asked a question, you filth.” Er’Dan presses the dagger against his victims throat, drawing a thin line of blood. “What work do you do for Voidwalken?”
“Voidwalken?” Feidin’s voice is considerably weaker, with a slight wimper to it now. “I.. my gang and I procure various items and bring it to them.”
“What kind of items?”
“It’s always different, always something a normal citizen can’t obtain.”
“Tell me, WHAT kinds of items.” Er’Dan places his foot once again on Feidin’s broken leg. “Do not make me break something else.”
“Stop, Stop! Ill tell you anything, please do not harm me further.”
“You have one minute to convince me your information is valuable to me, and that your life is valuable to you.”
“My left pocket, there is a note from Voidwalken, about what we were obtaining and where we were meeting to exchange tomorrow night.” Feidin attempts to reach for his pocket with his left arm, but Er’Dan grabs his wrist and pulls his arm behind his back.
“I will get the note, you stay still.”
Er’Dan reaches into the left pocket of the restrained man and finds a small knife, as well as a small piece of paper.
“You think you are quick enough to grab this knife and kill me? You’re a drunken fool who doesn’t know when to stop pushing.” Angry, Er’Dan takes Feidin’s left wrist and bends the hand all the way back, flat up against Feidin’s forearm and completely severing the hand from his arm.
“Argh….Stop! Stop! I cannot....” Feidin shrieks in pain loudly before Er’Dan draws the knife across his throat, silencing him forever.
“Also, stay quiet you damned fool.”
Er’Dan drops Feidin’s now lifeless body to the back alley street, shuffling pallets and assorted boxes to cover up his deed. The man would be found, but Er’Dan knew it wouldn’t be tonight, and truthfully wasn’t sure anyone would care too much about another murder in the outskirts. His stuffs the note into his pocket, before retracing his steps back towards ‘The Last Stop,’ always sticking to the shadows and darkness of the moonlit night. Killing a man meant nothing to Er’dan, anyone between him and his goals should avoid confrontation or face similar consequences. Upon reaching the tavern, and once again pulling his hood over his head and close to his face, Er’Dan enters to a similar pub scene to the one he had left. He nods once to Garfield, who looked up upon his entrance, and takes the stairs towards the upper balcony and room seven.
His room was barely furnished, but looked like a palace compared to the cell he had just finished sleeping in for three hundred and sixty five days. Their was a small nightstand, oak dresser, and tall lamp in the corner of the room. The bed was neatly made, and had his pack atop it where Bradford had left it. Securing the door, Er’dan undress for the night and places all of his belongings underneath his bed, save the note he had retrieved off of his last victim. As he lay in the bed, comfort washed over him. Funny how just having a mattress for the evening again started to make him feel a part of the world, not hidden in some large stone fortress. Laying down, he unfolds and reads the note he took from Feidin. It was short, but it was all Er’Dan needed; Explosives – From Maltin Leonard. Erryn Clocks – 9 pm with a date listed for tomorrow. Smiling, Er’Dan knew he was going to have the best sleep he’s had in a long time, for he was on the hunt.